


The Stalled Engine

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Broken Saber [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe wakes up with the hangover from hell, and has to deal with the fallout. Well. After he delivers his report to General Organa...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stalled Engine

Poe Dameron wakes with the headache to rival all headaches before it. The sort of headache that you’d expect if you tried to knock out a Rancor using only your skull. His mouth tastes like Dagobah, his eyes are grimy like he’s flown for eighteen hours straight, and his neck is stiff from sleeping in an awkward position all night. 

Poe Dameron is not the kind of man to get hangovers. But when he gets them? He gets them _bad_.

With a groan, he stretches out, trying to - to -

When he moves, he feels something - _someone_ \- else move, too. He’s aware of the steady, rhythmic breathing and the soft, diffuse heat and the smell of **person**  and the warm slash of an arm draped over his waist. He’s fallen asleep in someone’s arms, and he hasn’t done that in _months_ , and when he cranes his stiff neck up to confirm his suspicions…

Ben. Kylo. Whatever the man calls himself. Worried, narrowed brown eyes sight down the barrel of the other man’s aquiline nose, and he pulls his lower lip in to chew at it. Poe flinches, hard, and it all comes flooding back.

“…I didn’t know if I should wake you or not,” Ben - _Kylo_ \- seriously what does he **call him**  - says, sounding rueful and apologetic.   


“P-probably for the best,” he agrees, forcing his brandy-rough voice past dry and awkward lips. “What time even is it?”  


“…a few hours after breakfast stopped being served.”  


“ _Frak!”_  


“What?”  


Poe is up and on his feet, shoving clothing back closed, examining the flightsuit for evidence of his nocturnal activities. “I’m supposed to give a report to the _General_.”  


“…on me?”  


“What? No! On my recon flight!” Poe glares at the other man, then realises he’s absolutely terrified. It’s so surreal to think that of him. Only a few months previous, he’d been - he’d been _Kylo Ren_. That monster in a mask. The thing used to scare children into behaving. To scare _pilots_ into behaving. He’d been a force of evil and darkness, and a very real nightmare whenever Poe closed his eyes.  


Now, on his bed, with sheets kicked almost off and sunken, pain-rimmed eyes… now he doesn’t even look like the man he _should_ have grown up to be. The features are all there, the same face-shape, the eyes, the nose, the ears… _Maker_ , he even looks more like his parents than he did as a teenager. But he’s something different, now. Broken. It’s painful to look at him, and Poe doesn’t feel afraid. He feels… pity.

“Oh,” says Kylo. Small. Childlike. Without his mask, he sounds Human again.  


“I… look. I’m sorry. I gotta go. I’m already late. I… can we talk? About this? Tonight?”  


Kylo Ren is now red and white like blood stained over snow. There’s more than just a lack of sleep in the shadows clinging to his features, but he nods. “Yes. If you want to. I mean, if you want to pretend nothing ha–”

Poe hisses at him. “No. No. Just… tonight? I need to - I need to talk to the General. I’m so sorry. I don’t normally…” Fuck and run. He waits a moment longer, before running in to the ‘fresher and splashing his face. Fingers through his hair. “I swear. Just… give me a few hours?”

Not that he’s giving him much of a choice. Kylo nods, and Poe doesn’t know if he should hug him, or kiss him, or just plain pretend nothing ever happened like he’s offering. Close the footlocker again, and go back to - to ignoring one another. Or maybe polite, civil distance. He knows he probably came here with the intent of getting off one way or another, last night, but he was also drunk, and…

“I swear, I’ll come back.”  


“Okay.”  


A memory. A memory of the night before, a quiet entreaty to the man he’d once called friend. _Don’t… don’t leave again… just don’t._

Poe leaves instead.

***

He’s never been late to a debriefing with the General, and he knows everyone’s necks crane around to watch him walk through the command suite. He feels sticky from the night before, scratchy in last night’s clothes, and it’s only a small mercy that he isn’t walking bow-legged, or he would be sure they _all_ knew this was a walk of shame.

Shame. Funny way to think of it. A perfectly consensual, adult behaviour, turned into something to lock away behind closed doors. Admittedly he’d done it drunk, and without really - without _discussion_ \- but it was the lesser of many sins. 

He’s sure he can still taste Kylo on his lips when he looks the man’s mother in the eyes.

“Poe… are you alright?”  


“Yes, General. I’m sorry. I…”  


She makes a tiny movement with her head, her right hand indicating they go back into her office, instead. Poe doesn’t want to, in case he breaks down. He does, anyway. Closes the door gently behind him. Stands: polite, attentive, ready.

“Are you unwell?”  


_Yes_ , he thinks. _Definitely_. “No, General. I’m sorry, I… I had too much to drink last night. It was unprofessional of me, and it won’t happen again.”

“You’ve never done a single thing I’ve considered unprofessional in all the time you’ve served under me, Commander. Even if this were the case, I’d be happy to give you the benefit of the doubt.”  


“Ma’am.”  


“Sit down. How do you take your caf?”  


“Ma’am? I don’t–” Poe sees inflexibility in his superior’s eyes, and he sighs. He moves to the seat facing her desk, and folds in carefully. “Black as the Kessel ‘holes, with two sugars, Ma’am.”  


“I think - all things being equal - you can call me Leia, today.”  


“Yes, M– uh… General Leia.” Okay, even he admits it sounds ridiculous. He flushes, and examines his flightsuit knee, and… is that? Evidence of last night? Or just some other stain? When she’s not looking, he licks his thumb and scrubs fiercely at it.   


“You haven’t been yourself for a while, now.”  


He knows this is true, but he’s been trying to conceal it. Maybe even from himself. If _she_ has noticed… but why wouldn’t she? G- Leia Organa is a smart and compassionate woman, a woman who has devoted her life to the cause. Who lost her whole planet, and most of her family. Both families. Surely she knows grief more than most do; it should come as no surprise that she would figure out the truth.

“That obvious, huh?” He tries for smooth, for calm, collected. Tries, and his smile feels so false to him.   


He’s been coasting, ever since… ever since Jakku. In the immediate aftermath, the Starkiller mission and then the hope of getting Luke back had been so busymaking that he hadn’t had time to decompress. Poe had thrown himself from mission to mission, from run to run… and any attempts to _coddle_ him had been laughed off. 

Maybe he’d even managed to convince himself he hadn’t needed it.

“Are you going to tell me what’s the matter? Or do I have to work it out of you?” 

She hands him a mug of warm caf, and then - reading something in the way that makes his blood run cold, she pauses.  


“It’s my son, isn’t it?”  


He could try to deny it, he could. He could say it’s something else, or just post-mission blues, or point out it’s the anniversary of losing his mother in - oh, wow. A month. It comes by faster, every year. He feels guilty that he hadn’t even thought about it til now. Feels guilty that it means he’s forgetting her, somehow. Like her being gone is just something that no longer hurts, or not enough. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know if it’s appropriate to discuss–”  


“Poe.” She sits on the edge of her desk, hands clasped on her knee. “I’m his _mother_.”  


“Yeah, and he **tortured me for information** ,” Poe blurts out, the response coming before his mental editor gets a chance to check through it. He winces, knowing she was likely aware, but he’s never actually… _said_ as much. Not to her, anyway.  


“When you were on the _Finalizer_ ,” she surmises.  


He nods. “Yeah. Wanted the map. It’s in my report.”

“I know what is in your reports, Poe. I read every single one. What I’m asking you is…”  


“What isn’t in there?” Poe doesn’t feel comfortable having this conversation, not one bit. It’s far too upsetting a topic at the best of times, worse when the person you’re telling is the _mother_ of your abuser, and worse when you just yelled at - and then had drunk sex with - the perpetrator. “You know… you know we were close. As kids.”  


“I do. Ben thought the world of you.”  


“Yeah, well. It was kind of mutual, Ma– uh, Leia.” Still hard to remove the ‘Superior’ part. She’d been Ma’am when he was Ben’s friend, and she was even more Ma’am to him, now. Except on the days she was Sir.   


“You and he… were involved?”  


Poe flushes from his ears down. “N-no. He was… he was training to be a Jedi. And… we both knew. What that meant. And we were… we were kids.”

“But you still… cared for him?”  


Maker, this was impossible. Poe wanted the ground to open up, or the sky, or something. Anything. It was hard enough remembering days they’d been happy together, and he’d sort of been okay with the monster in his nightmares wearing the mask, but seeing him go around with his - with that _face_ \- it brought back so many painfully sweet things, so many hopeful dreams long since consigned to the ashes, that…

“Y-yes.” It’s wracked, when he says it. It hurts like spitting up his heart into his hand. A childish affection, a shared respect and caring. Neither of them had known what adult love would be like, but they’d been so terribly close that the prospect of - that…  


There’s a hand on his shoulder, and he realises he’s crying. He isn’t supposed to cry. He wipes the back of one hand across his cheek, capturing the mess, and tries to choke it down inside.

“We knew,” he tries again, forcing his tongue to behave. “We knew we couldn’t - couldn’t ever really be together. But we cared about one another. _I_ cared about him. When you sent him away, it was… he was so, so scared. He didn’t want to go. **I** didn’t want him to go, but we both knew he was in danger, and we both knew he needed help, and I guess I thought Luke Sk– I thought your _brother_ would help put him right…”  


He’s hurting her by saying this, he knows. He knows, because her hand clutches tighter. “It was Snoke,” she whispers. “All along. Even when you knew him. He… he was… he was in my son’s head. I tried to help him, but I couldn’t. I thought Luke - with his training…”

Poe holds onto the cup of caf so hard his hands shake. The heat is unbearable, but he bears it, anyway. The pain inside is much greater than any scald-mark could ever be. “I missed him so much, all the time. And I - I guess - I guess I went to Jakku, thinking I could get Luke to come back and fix it. Or maybe I knew he’d go looking, too, I– I don’t know, I just–”

“Do you need me to station you elsewhere?”  


“What? No!” Why would she do that? To punish him? Poe sits bolt upright, a look of utter betrayal crossing his face. And then he realises… she can’t send _Kylo_ anywhere else. Where else would he be safe?  


Even though he’s turned away from Snoke, there will be plenty of people who don’t begin to understand what he’s done. Who he is, underneath. Hell, even Poe wanted to punch his lights out, several times already. She can’t move Kylo, but she can move _him_. Which - yeah. That stings, oddly. He’s not her actual son, but he more or less lived like he was, for years. And he stayed when Ben left, and…

“If you do, please tell me,” she continues. “I don’t want this to be uncomfortable for you.”  


Poe grinds the heel of one palm into his eyes. “I… we… still have… feelings for one another, G–” no, definitely: “General. I don’t know what it means for us. I don’t know if… if I can forgive him, but…” He looks up, distraught. “How… do you?”

“Forgive him?” She looks old, now. Old. A woman who has seen so much, suffered so deeply. Her husband is gone, her son the one to kill him. “It’s not easy, but he’s my son. And I know - I always knew - there was Light in him. He just… Snoke. Snoke seduced him.”  


It’s an odd word to use, ‘seduce’. He wonders why she picks it.

“…but he had that Light in him. He… he didn’t really want to Fall, Poe. I didn’t keep him safe enough. He was just a _boy_. You were all children. He was a boy, whose family failed him. I should never have sent him away, and Han…” But she stops before she speaks ill of the dead.   


“He said he was sorry,” Poe says, quietly. “He kept saying it. I was just so angry, because he hurt me. And he didn’t come to tell me, when he got back.”  


“Don’t you think that was out of shame, Poe?”  


Shame. He thinks about that. “Maybe. But he still _hurt_ me. And even if he was ashamed, it–”

“I’m not justifying his actions. Any of them. My son has done terrible things, and I have to learn how to live with that. And how to stop it happening again. But… remember he was a boy, Poe. Even younger than you were, when Snoke did this to him. I know he cared deeply for you. He probably was too ashamed of what he’d done to ever want to look you in the eye again. He barely talks to _me_.”  


And that hurt, too, like a punch to the gut. Kylo was back on the base, but doing what? Poe had seen him skulk in and out of meetings, offer brief tactical intel, eat, and generally refuse to interact with anyone. He was back here, but… was he really _here_? He had no friends, he wasn’t even talking to his family, and the person who used to love him, and whom he used to love…

…he had… he had to help him. Even if Kylo Ren had hurt him, two wrongs didn’t make a right. He could still be angry with what had happened, or upset, but shutting him out completely would never solve their pain. Either of their pain.

“Is it true?”  


“Is what true?”  


“…the rumours. That he… that he lost his power?”  


He said as much, but Poe can’t quite believe it.

Leia - sadly - nods. “When he turned his back on Snoke. He joined my brother and Rey in trying to defeat him, and… apparently it cost him his connection to the Force. No one understands it.”

“I see.”  


“Poe… I’m not asking you to forget what he did to you. And if - if you _want_ to talk to me, or to a friend, or a counsellor… whatever you need. We are all here for you, we will support you. But please… if you can talk to him? Even… even as a friend…”  


“I’m going to, General. I’m… I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to.” He owes his old friend that, if nothing else. And him being perpetually selfishly upset did nothing to make even himself feel better.  


Maybe if he could help Ben - Kylo - maybe that would undo a lot of the hurt he felt in his own core. It was worth a shot.

The General - Ben’s _mother_ \- smiles very, very slightly. "You can give me your report tomorrow. Or electronically. I think… possibly you should go and refresh yourself?”  


Oh, yeah. The part where he literally walked here after… yeah. “…sorry about that.”

“Poe. Stop apologising. I’m a General. We’re used to things… a little rough around the edges.”  


Poe can’t help but wonder if she’s referring to her late husband with that. He smiles, gulps down most of the caf in one, and pushes to his feet.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says, and throws her a salute.  


“Just… go talk to him. Alright? But I’m serious about the ‘fresher.”  


And he doesn’t blame her.

***

Poe goes back to his own place to clean up. BB-8 whirs anxiously at him, asking where he’s been.

“It’s okay, buddy. I just needed the night off,” he tells the astro.  


More beeping.

“Not yet, but I will be.”  


Another series of Binary swirls, and Poe bends down to pat BB-8. “Thanks, buddy. I know. I promise. Just give me a few more hours, okay? It’s gonna be okay.”

Everything feels better after a shower. And copious amounts of fruit juice. And a cereal bar. Not the best meal ever, but to his poor, upset stomach it feels like heaven. Pilots subsist on a lot worse, when needs must. He rises, and combs through his hair one last time. No time like the present.

***

By the time Kylo actually answers the door, Poe has begun to wonder if he’s ever going to do it. If he’s going to pretend he’s gone out, or asleep, or something. Or just outright refuse his company. He’s preparing to holler a hello when the door swishes open.

“Hey. Is… now a good time?”  


Kylo looks even worse than when he left him. He’s cleaned himself, but his face is pallid, his eyes heavy, his jaw no longer sure. 

“…if… you want to.”  


“Look, I’m sorry about last night. But could you at least invite me in so we can talk about it?”  


The tall man walks backwards, and lingers in the hallway. Poe goes straight for the living room area, and sits on a couch. Ben had always been shyer than him, and sometimes needed pushing into social interactions. Poe can work with that as a basis for this, and he waits until Kylo joins him.

“Poe, I–”  


“…may I?” he interrupts, and waits for the sullen nod of permission. “Okay. First off: I’m sorry I turned up drunk, on your door. I was upset. Upset and annoyed. And confused. And I’d been trying to work up the courage to talk to you for _weeks_ , and I… I just… couldn’t.”  


He gets a weak, wan smile in return. “Same. I… didn’t know what to say to you. I didn’t know how to begin to… make up for what I did to you.”

“So. We were both assholes, we can agree. I think the lesson we learn is: talk? About stuff. And not just pretend it didn’t happen, or hide away? Because… well. Hiding from you _hurt_ me. And I guess it hurt you, too?”  


A fiercer nod to this, and Kylo looks like he’s both simultaneously terrified beyond his mind, and hoping beyond hope. This man - this man is not the monster. Not really. He did monstrous things, and both of them know it, but he’s not a pure sadist, not a sociopath, not a villain. 

He’s Ben. Or… what was Ben. That’s still there, in that nervous way he tucks his hair behind his ear. Or the shared history they have. He’s still who he used to be, just some more stuff on top.

“How about we… we both agree we’re sorry, and… we try to work out what comes next?” Poe offers. It’s difficult to stay angry at someone who genuinely regrets what they did. Real, honest guilt and remorse. Ben was always very open with his emotional reaction, and he is sure what he sees on Kylo’s face is entirely sincere. Being angry with him for what he did isn’t really helping Poe feel better, so he has to try something else.  


“What does come next?”  


“Well. We were friends, once. So. I want to start with that at the very least. I want… I want to be your friend again, Ben. Kylo. What… what even do you want me to call you?”  


“…I’m not even sure,” the man admits. “Ben feels like a dead name. Like… like he died. Like I killed him. Kylo feels like a killer’s name, but… if I don’t admit I killed, then I’m… then I’m running from the truth, just like Ben did.”  


“So… neither? Kylo? Ben?”  


“…can we try Kylo, first? I don’t want to seem as if I am denying my actions. I did them. I need… to face up to that.”  


Poe can appreciate that, sort of. He can’t understand, because he hasn’t been through it, but he can sympathise and respect it. “As long as if I slip up you realise it’s just an accident, not me trying to upset you.”

“Okay.”  


Compromise number one. Poe takes a slow, shuddery breath. “Can I… can I ask questions?”

“As long as you appreciate I might not have the answers. Or the answers you _want_.”  


Again, fair. Ben is - **Kylo** is still fidgeting, but he’s looking a bit less like he’s about to burst into tears. He looks nervous as all hell, but that kind of hopeful nervous instead of just plain terror. 

“What… made you come back? When you did. Why… then? And why in general?”  


“I…” Kylo looks down, avoiding his eyes. “I had never been fully happy, working for the Supreme Leader. I think it is - ah - fair to say. But I felt I had no choice. He kept promising to end my suffering, and to complete my training. I felt the call of the Light, but I… didn’t have the strength to stand against him. And I… was afraid. When Luke and Rey came to face him, I realised there was still hope. Still a chance. I could never resist him alone, but I thought the three of us…”  


It is painful to hear that admission. Very.

“…did…” Poe can’t finish it.  


“Did I feel the pull when I - when we met?” Kylo surmises, ever the quick one when it came to things Poe hid from the world.  


“Yeah.”  


A tiny, tiny nod. “But it didn’t - I couldn’t… hold him off. Snoke. I knew he would hunt me, find me, catch me… break me all over. I didn’t feel I had any choice but to submit, to obey. I thought - I think I thought on some level if I could just find Luke…”

“What would you have done, if I’d given you the map?”  


“In all honesty? Try to kill my uncle. Then either die in the process, or galvanise him against Snoke.  Then die by Luke’s hand, or beside it.” Kylo laughs, emptily. “I didn’t see a real way back. I thought… I don’t know. I thought, maybe, with Snoke gone I could be who I wanted to be. But I knew no one would ever accept me back. Not… properly.”  


Kylo is talking remarkably calmly about this, and Poe is struck by how surreal this conversation is. He wonders if anyone’s even asked Kylo _why_ he did things. He wonders if anyone knows this man at all. It seems even Snoke didn’t, and maybe only Leia - and possibly Luke - had the slightest idea who he became. 

“Would you have killed me? If… I didn’t escape?”  


“No. I… no.”  


“Really?”  


“Poe… I… I don’t know how, but I… I would have found some way. I…” Kylo’s shaking again, his hands pressed between too-long, over-bent knees. A slight rocking, back and forth, and it’s _horrifying_ to see a grown man so overwrought. **Worse** when he cares about him. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I–”  


“Okay. Okay…” he’s up, and has a hand on his shoulder, stroking slow circles. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked.”  


“N-no. You nnnnneed. To know.” The words are pressured, clipped. As if speaking is pushing them through some kind of mesh, or dam. “N-need to know I d- I didn’t - I didn’t _want_ m-most of it. It was… easier… easier… to do than to… refuse. I…”  


What the fuck did they do to him? To his Ben? To his Ben, so loving and caring, if painfully shy and awkward? Ben who would always smile when he met anyone’s eye, no matter how tiny the smile. Ben who would show him tricks if he was pushed to, but never show them off for the sake of it. Ben who knew how to fix things on an engine that most kids didn’t know existed. Ben who dreamed of being a hero, and whispered in secret how he was afraid he wouldn’t be good enough. 

He… he’s still somewhere, in all that mess. Under a mask. Poe wonders if the mask wasn’t there for more sinister reasons than just intimidation, suddenly. 

Ben. Stripped even of his name. Robbed of his face. Made into… into this _thing_. He grabs him, and pulls him in for a hug. Ben - Kylo - stiffens at once, and Poe wonders _just when did he last get really hugged_? And that **hurts**. He holds him tighter, and they curl in together, and cautious hands slide around his waist. 

It’s hard to hate him, when he can see he was just as tortured as Poe was. No. Worse. And of course the man couldn’t speak up for himself, couldn’t defend his actions. _No_. He’s as convinced as the world is that he’s a monster. He **knows** he was coerced, and he still thinks he’s wholly to blame. It makes him sick to the pit of his stomach, the longer he thinks about the travesty.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Poe says.   


“It’s my fault,” Kylo says.  


“It isn’t. It _isn’t_. You did bad things, but you were hurting. And even if it _was_ your fault, if you’re sorry, you can make it right?”  


“But _how_? I can’t do **anything** , Poe. I’m worthless. I’m more than worthless. I’m–”  


“An incredibly brave man who stood up to someone powerful, when he thought he had a chance of taking him down. Who risked - and sacrificed - so much. And who had the balls to come back home, knowing everyone would judge and hate you. Don’t you _dare_ call yourself worthless. You are worth ten - **twenty thousand** \- of that monster. And just as many of me.”  


“No. No, Poe, I–”  


“I was… okay, I was hurt. I was. And yeah, you hurt me, but I never really… I never really asked _you_ why you did it. Not really. You… the boy I fell for? He was good. And kind. And I forgot that, somewhere along the line.”  


“I’m not good. I’m not kind. I did terrible things.”  


“Yeah, you did. You did, but– so have I. I’ve killed thousands, Kylo. Shot them down. Exploded a whole freaking **planet**.” Which had felt great at the time, because it saved his own friends, his own cause. Because it saved Republic worlds. But he still _did it_.  


“You did that for the right reasons.”  


“And you came back to us. So.” He holds the man at arm’s length. “Make a deal with me? We find some way you can feel useful. Even something small. You do that, for the right reasons, and every time you do something, you promise me you let that hurt inside of you go down. Okay? Just a little. You _let_ yourself feel it.”  


Poe doesn’t even think Kylo should have to do that, but he gets it, he does. When he reads casualty reports from his missions, some days he doesn’t even feel the weight of the numbers any more. Others it has him sleepless for hours. He has to count every life he saved in another column, in order to make the nightmares abate. 

“I don’t have the Force.”  


“Neither did–” Your father. “A lot of people. Like me. And yeah, I know you can’t fly. But you can do other stuff. You can teach - you can teach how to fight stormtroopers, yeah? Or Knights? You can tell people how to survive. You can… you can do all sorts of things. Hell, you can fire a blaster?”  


“Less accurately without the Force.”  


“Still more accurately than half of those troopers, I’d bet.”   


Poe sits next to him, on the couch. An arm still around his shoulders, and he sees the sideways glance. 

“Who would ever listen to me?” Kylo asks, clearly entertaining the concept on some small level.  


“To you? Someone who knows - first-hand - what the Order is capable of? At the highest level? Someone who was a trusted soldier, who betrayed them out of **conscience**? Kylo… even your _father_ was once an Imperial. Your uncle wanted to join them. You **told** me that. You can’t just be who you used to be, you gotta be who you are, now.”  


“…and who is that?”  


“Whoever you want to be. You’re here. You **chose** to be here. You made that decision. And… I’m gonna help you. Because… damnit. I should have helped you more, before, when–”  


“I didn’t tell you.”  


Poe has realised this, of course. 

“I didn’t tell you… what he was doing to me. Because I - I was… ashamed, Poe.”  


“When?”  


“Did it start?”  


A nod.

“Before we met.”  


Before they– _fuck’s sake_. “Did you tell anyone?”

A little shake of the head. Shuddery breathing. “Not really.”

“…we… should have helped you more.”  


“You were a child, too, Poe.”  


“Yeah, but–”  


“No ‘but’s. We can’t undo it.”  


“Are you using my own arguments against me?” Poe is amused, and he squeezes his friend - yes - **friend** \- tighter. “Ass.”  


“Don’t offer advice you won’t take.”  


“Fine. Right. But I’m still sorry.”  


“As am I.”   


They dwell on that, for a moment. Then a very cautious hand reaches up for the one on Kylo’s shoulder. The man crosses his chest, just to hold Poe’s hand in his own. It makes his stomach hurt. 

“I wasn’t lying. Last night,” Kylo insists. “I haven’t lied. Not to you. And not to anyone, since I got back. Unless… you count my ‘meetings’. When I need to escape, and I need an excuse…”  


Trust Ben - Kylo - to even admit to that. Poe laughs slightly, and pecks a tiny kiss on his cheek. “I believe you.”

“So… we… we… can be friends, again?”  


Poe nods. “It’s not going to work overnight. It’s not like - I mean. So much has happened. We can’t act like it didn’t, but we **can** know we’re friends. And…” He swallows. It’s painful. “If… if… we… want to… if…” Oh, damnit, Dameron. Get your act together. “If we want to… be more than friends? If we both… want to give it a go…”

He does. Want to give it a go. Of course he does. He’s loved the man since they were kids. In different ways, but it’s still love. It was never really sexual back then, not properly. It was more a ‘you’re great and I always want you in my life’ kind of thing. A ‘you’re my best friend and I trust you with everything and you’re just so damn amazing and I never want to lose you’ sort of thing. And yeah, okay, so he’s grown. Both of them have. And libidos exist, but he doesn’t want his own libido to get in the way of any potential closeness, or compassion, or anything else. He wants Kylo in his life, and he doesn’t want to risk fucking it up by over-complicating with sex, or by somehow trying and failing at that kind of a relationship, and running the risk of hurting him more, or being unable to be around him. Or vice-versa. 

“If… we both want to. I… would… like to try,” Kylo admits, and squeezes at his hand. “But only if you–”  


Poe arches up and kisses the side of his mouth. Softly. Sweetly. The kind of kiss he always wanted to give him, when he worked out what kisses were really for. Not the little ones they used to do on foreheads, or the backs of joined hands. Romantic, if not libidinous. Caring. Loving.

“I want to,” the pilot insists. “Just… slowly. I know I didn’t really do that last night, but… hey. I make mistakes, too.”  


His own heart is racing. Really, really fast. He’s always loved this beautiful, powerful thing. The wonder was that he ever loved him in return. Maybe that’s why he was so hurt; he’d hoped, once, that he was enough for Ben. And then he’d been ripped to pieces like he was nothing, their history ignored, their past and then - then he had spent every waking moment avoiding him.

But Poe’s beginning to realise it wasn’t because he wasn’t important enough, but more that he was _too_ important. And that’s all sorts of bizarre. 

“I’m still sorry,” Kylo whispers, as their faces turn together, noses bumping, breath shared.  


“Me too. But we’ll get through it. I know we will. You and me… we’ll get through it.”  


Hands joined, arm around his shoulder, foreheads touching… it hurts so much, but for the first time in the longest time, he has a mission. A real mission. One that doesn’t involve _flying_ at all.


End file.
